Grave Digging
by rubyshards
Summary: Fluff, SeiferxSquall. The difficulty of digging up past emotions and feelings and coming to an understanding. For the themes 'digging' and 'truth.'


Squall is dressed in faded old blue jeans and a dark gray sweater when he shows up on Seifer's doorstep, and it takes Seifer a minute to realize that those jeans and that sweater are his and another minute to move out of the way to let him slip through, into the warmth of his apartment. On his face he wears that familiar mask of apathy and indifference, but Seifer can see the cracks in it, more defined now than before, in the form of creases around his lips and at the corners of his eyes.

Squall's hands are empty. Seifer had expected to open the door and find Lion Heart pressed against his throat, but that doesn't happen. He's surprised, but only a little.

Seifer watches him for a moment, familiarizing himself once more with the movements and the atmosphere that is Squall. They've been away for almost two years, and two years is a lot. He's forgotten some little things and remembers some even smaller ones, like the noise Squall makes when he's waking up and the way Squall likes his coffee in the morning. He doesn't remember when they first kissed. He does remember that it had to have been a long time ago.

"Well, _this_ is a surprise." His lips say. It's been a while, his brain says. His lips and brain don't really connect, and he's almost glad. This path is easier. Familiar words and smirks and expressions are easier to bring up from the grave than other things, although he knows there's a grave for those other things, too. That grave is a bit deeper – it's harder to dig through, so he doesn't try. Squall doesn't seem to try, either, from the looks of things.

In response, Squall doesn't move. He's standing in the middle of Seifer's living room, looking around, from the over-stuffed, nicotine-stained couch to the whitewashed walls and the plain, simple decor. His eyes hold a strange look of confusion and frustration, but the moment Seifer gets a good look at it, it's gone, and he's not sure it was ever there at all. That was always hard to tell, with Squall. One minute he's human, and the next he's back to being the Ice Prince and the Commander.

He knows his ex-lover well enough to know when the change takes place. Squall walked in here as Squall and looks at him now as Commander Leonhart, a frown on his face that creeps up into his brow, making his eyes look even darker as he narrows them to examine Seifer. Seifer feels like he's looking directly through him, seeing the millions of excuses he had planned to say when he faced Squall once again and shattering them to a thousand pieces in his mind. He can't remember half of the excuses any more anyway – Squall coming here shot them out of his mind the moment he opened the door and saw Squall in that old pair of jeans and sweater.

He remembers when he let Squall borrow that outfit. He doesn't exactly remember why he let Squall borrow it, but he smiles when he realizes that it still doesn't fit him. He's grown into it a little over time, but the sleeves hang to the middles of his fingers and he has to walk with particular carefulness and grace to prevent himself from snagging his boot in the length of the pant leg and tripping when he walks up to Seifer and stands two feet away from him.

"Why did you leave?" The Commander says, his eyes piercing and narrow, knowing if Seifer were to lie. Seifer glances to the right to keep eye contact to a minimum, unable to shake that feeling that Squall can look right through him like he's cellophane. He doesn't give an answer right away because he's not sure what he wants to say, his mouth feeling oddly dry and his brain working two paces slower than normal with the heavy feeling of something more there than the remnants of a Sorceress' bond. Squall's patient with him, though, like he always has been, his face set into a look of something that's close to understanding but isn't quite there yet.

_Because I had no other choice, _his brain spews out, one of the many excuses he had built up for his actions. He doesn't say it because he knows it's a lie, and the look in Squall's eyes tells him that Squall knows exactly what he's thinking to say, and he won't settle for that. He thinks of telling Squall that he just left because it was available to him, but he knows that's a lie, too.

"Because I had to." He finally settles with that, knowing it's not a lie but knowing it's not enough. He's not sure he can explain why he had to leave, so he doesn't try to explain it with any more than those words.

He's not exactly sure why he had to leave, anyway. He was searching for something, but that something eluded him. He felt like he needed something, but he was unable to find what, and he realized that what he was missing came when he left and settled down here, where Squall wasn't.

His hand clenches at his side, reflexively. He doesn't try to hide the reaction. Squall glances toward it before nodding his acquiescence, and Seifer takes one step forward and lifts his hand, tracing the tips of his fingers down Squall's scar. The scar is thinner and shallower than before, faded with age, just as his has, but it's still there. That comforts him, and he draws his fingers back up, over the bridge of Squall's nose and above his right eye. Squall doesn't flinch, his eyes transfixed on Seifer, and Seifer realizes that this is their game, and he's glad they've settled back down into it. He tests the waters, and Squall confirms what he can and cannot do. Just like the old days.

"You failed?" Squall says. He's back to being Squall again, and that comforts Seifer even more than the scar does. It's a sign that he understands, if only a little, why he made his decision.

Maybe Squall is digging through that grave, shifting out piles of dirt-lies and mud-masks, looking for that something that was once easier to reach, when Rinoa was there.

"Yeah. But I'm getting there." They stand in silence for a moment longer. Seifer watches Squall, his fingers resting on the center of his scar, between his eyes, before Squall tilts his head to the left just a little bit. Seifer takes the hint and slides his fingers down his cheek, wraps his hand around Squall's neck, brushing over the soft, small hairs at the base of his skull. His calloused fingers make Squall shiver, but it's hardly noticeable; Seifer disregards it, knowing Squall would never want to show some kind of weakness, even now.

Squall nods, Seifer's hand moving with the action. He doesn't understand, Seifer realizes, but he's trying. He moves that one step closer, but he doesn't touch Seifer. His breath is warm against Seifer's neck, and his head is tilted up so he can watch Seifer's expression; their chests are almost touching, and Seifer has to prevent himself from dragging Squall into his arms and kissing him senseless by biting the inside of his mouth.

Squall offers him the faintest of smiles, and he can't resist any more. Squall tastes of winter and coffee – Seifer lets Squall kiss him, allowing him to lead the way for once, not pushing and forcing his way through the barriers as he normally would. It's sweet and soft, a little slower than he's used to, but there's an air of defiance and anger laced in Squall's kiss that makes Seifer wrap his left arm around his waist and pull him in closer to make the taste that little bit more noticeable.

Seifer makes an effort to dig, too.


End file.
